


pull me in close on a crisp eve, baby

by onetiredboy



Series: Jay's Gender Fics (Read Disclaimer) [6]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Digital Art, Other, author projection lol, its ok if u cant read this fic for dysphoria reasons! i love u, miasma (unfortunately), peter nureyev doesn't have top surgery and is totally okay with that: the fic, this has no plot just gender, trans positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetiredboy/pseuds/onetiredboy
Summary: Peter Nureyev doesn't have top surgery. That's it. That's the whole fic. (Details in notes).(Yes. I chose this title bc the next lyric in this song has the words 'side boob' in it. I'm sorry, but also. Sue me.)
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Jay's Gender Fics (Read Disclaimer) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782826
Comments: 5
Kudos: 91





	pull me in close on a crisp eve, baby

**Author's Note:**

> **EDIT: I am discontinuing this series. Please follow the link to the series this is from and read the disclaimer there. Thank you!**
> 
> hi there! i've had this fic written for a LONG time and many of you may actually have read it before. i never wanted to post it, but after chatting to gerrystamor, I decided i would after all bc this kind of content is Important and also it turns out i accidentally inspired the no top surgery nureyev hc that they wrote? lmao oops but also not
> 
> in this fic, nureyev does not experience dysphoria about his chest. i use the term boobs for him; if that isn't your thing, i fully understand. as someone for whom top surgery is a distant dream, i simply really like exploring trans men being comfortable without surgery & this fic is an expression of that. if u don't vibe with that concept, i suggest u click elsewhere!
> 
> an extension of this fic is gonna be part of the challenge i am writing for my other acc, so check that out maybe! if you don't know what i mean, don't worry abt it! :-) 
> 
> ART BY LEO opaldawn. THANK YOU LEO OMG!!

When Juno actually lays _eyes_ on Duke Rose, his mouth goes dry.

Juno is leaning against the car, glancing around every now and then to make sure nobody is around. Nureyev broke into somebody’s apartment at a hotel a block away from the Oasis, quoting the need for a costume change and apparently deciding there wasn’t going to be a chance once they got there, nor that he could risk being seen ‘in costume’ around Juno’s apartment when he picked him up.

Nureyev had promised him he’d blend in, had said that plenty of rich folks probably weren’t awake yet anyway even if he didn’t, but standing out here in his shabby trench coat defending his beaten up car makes him feel about as _blended in_ as Mick Mercury at a gala party.

When the front door to the apartment complex beeps and begins to open, Juno sighs in relief and steps away from the car.

When Nureyev steps out, the breath evaporates from Juno’s lungs again, and he finds himself having to lean even more for balance.

“What do you think?” Nureyev asks, one hand resting painted purple nails on his hip and a smirk on his face that says Juno is definitely blushing right now.

Rex Glass had put a punch of heat into Juno’s gut in a spooksuit that had covered him from ankle to wrist. If the way Nureyev is dressed now is his idea of casual wear, Juno may not last very long before some part of him internally combusts.

His makeup is immaculately done, red eyeliner framing his eyes and purple lipstick. He’s got a thick black choker around his neck with a pendant of a rose in the middle. He has on a collared red shirt with thin rose patterning in mauve. The shirt itself is unbuttoned, tucked into his belt and his tight black pants.

There is… a lot of skin on display. The shirt has short sleeves, and his arms are uncovered, though he has a suit jacket thrown over a shoulder, held by the hand that isn’t on his hip. There’s an expanse of brown skin, a rose tattoo right over his sternum, and just the glimpse of the sides of his boobs before his shirt covers the rest.

Juno blinks, and thinks of something coherent to say. “I think you couldn’t make it any more obvious that ‘Duke Rose’ is a made up person.”

Nureyev tips his head back and laughs an obscenely fake laugh, but Juno doesn’t mind with the glimpse of fangs and the Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck it gives him.

“I’m serious,” Juno says, “Nobody builds their entire appearance off their last name. You don’t see me walking around looking like a construction site.”

Peter looks back down at him, “Why not? You might look very nice wrapped up in _CAUTION_ tape.”

Juno snickers at that, a little, and hides it as a cough when Nureyev smirks at him again, evidently pleased that he’s broken through Juno’s unfriendly barrier.

“I’m sure my exes would agree on that,” Juno says, and then changes the subject quickly when he sees Nureyev’s eyes light up with curiosity. “Let’s get in the car. You better not have anything stupid planned for my alias.”

Nureyev pouts, “Of course not. I have something wonderful planned.”

Juno growls and pops the car door open. Peter walks around the other side and slides into the driver’s seat.

At first, Juno thinks his alias’s name explains what Nureyev means by ‘something wonderful’. A married couple. The guy is really subtle. Then he finds out that Nureyev _bought him clothes._

He hesitates before he opens the cupboard, hoping he won’t find out that Dahlia Rose is even more allergic to clothes than his husband is.

Instead, he finds… a suit. A pretty nice one, actually. He tries it on, and is only a little bit concerned about just how nicely it hugs his ass and fits him around his chest.

He looks good. Juno stares at himself in the mirror and thinks _Dahlia Rose._

He pops the first button on his collared shirt open. Then he goes searching for his makeup.

* * *

It takes a week or so of torture before it becomes obvious Peter is in pain most of the time.

Juno’s not doing so hot himself, sitting with his back to the wall and a deep, throbbing pain in his head that is spreading down his neck and spiking with pain every time his eye moves - which is basically all of the time.

He has a palm to his own eye, teeth clenched, when he sees Peter hiss and arch his back a little.

They’d both gotten changed out of their Roses disguises before sleeping, but hadn’t really had time to get changed before, you know, _everything_ that happened the morning of their kidnapping. Juno is in the dress shirt and slacks from Vicki’s tux, because he hadn’t wanted to sleep in just his underclothes at the Oasis and the tux was what he’d been wearing when Nureyev appeared in his living room and _wow,_ it has been a _while_ since Juno had enough time between life-threatening situations to even change his clothes.

Peter had had pyjamas, because of course he had, although the ends of his long silk bottoms have been tattered, the slip-ons he kicked on before they disappeared out the window have long been slipped off, and his shirt…

His shirt seems to be what is causing him the discomfort. He shuffles awkwardly and then winces. He looks like it’s burning him.

Fuck, Juno realises -- maybe it is. He doesn’t know how well even the softest of cloth and burns from electrodes go together.

A few days later, Peter raises his hands to pull the longer hair on the top of his head into a small bun. The hair on the side of his head is just beginning to brush the top of his ears, and Juno gets the words ‘fast growing hair’ stuck circling in his foggy head as he stares, glassy-eyed, where Peter is sitting.

Then Juno feels lines of fire across his skin, and arches his back with a loud hiss. It registers a second later that Peter is mimicking his movements.

Not mimicking. Peter’s fingers go to the bottom of his shirt and he pulls it over his head, throwing it across the room like it’s turned venomous.

Juno sits up properly, “Fuck.”

What he can see of the side of Nureyev’s body, under the strap of the simple black bra he’s wearing, is covered in angry-looking patches of burnt skin, around places Miasma’s goons have attached electrodes to administer shocks. The sight of it almost makes Juno nauseous with guilt.

“Nureyev…” he starts to croak.

Nureyev cuts him off, “Don’t. Just… please.”

Juno closes his mouth and swallows, “Okay.”

There’s silence for a while. 

Then Peter clears his throat. “Well,” he says, his voice a little breathless, “I have to say, when I imagined the first time you’d see me shirtless, it was usually under much more pleasant circumstances.”

Despite himself, Juno barks a dry laugh. “You do that often?”

“Oh, only whenever the opportunity arises,” he sends a wink Juno’s way. “Why? How did you imagine it would go?”

Juno leans back against the wall, “You are not trading fantasies with me right now. Read the room, Nureyev, it’s hardly the time to be getting friendly with each other.”

Peter sighs heavily. He leans back on his arms, looking at the ceiling, and says, “Yes. Time and a place, and all that. I suppose I was only trying to deflect.”

Juno gets that. Of course he does. Only hours ago he’d been closing his eyes and trying to daydream that this was all a bad hangover, a remnant from a good night out with Mick. That any minute now, Rita would call his comms and he’d go to answer her only to have a slender arm curl around his waist and lips at the back of his neck, muttering, “She can wait. Come back to bed, detective.”

“For what it’s worth,” Juno says, “I imagined it in much more pleasant circumstances, too.”

That earns him a smile, and Nureyev closes his eyes, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his elbows on them. 

“This is embarrassing,” Peter says after a moment. “This isn’t how I would’ve liked you to see me for the first time.”

“I… don’t have to look,” Juno says quickly, glancing towards the door of their cell. 

“It’s been done, detective. No point in being modest now.”

Juno sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll survive, Juno.”

“Yeah.”

After a moment, Juno sits up properly. “I have no idea if this will make you feel any better,” he says, fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt. He undoes it, and pushes the sides of his shirt aside, feeling the cold air on his tummy and exposing the black bra he’s wearing, “But hey: we’re matching.”

Peter glances over. Then he smiles.

Juno smiles back. They’re both exhausted, and in pain, and forced to be a little too open and personal than either of them would like. But at least they have each other.


End file.
